


born for this

by bodytoflame



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Friendships, Family Dynamics, Female Friendship, Gen, Minor Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Minor Jason Grace/Piper McLean, Next Generation, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24225106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bodytoflame/pseuds/bodytoflame
Summary: When she finally feels the exhaustion drift over her, it’s overwhelming; like the entire weight of the day’s been dropped on her at once. In a way, it has. She’s here now, this is real. Not just the stories her parents told to her, or vague bursts of imagination from brief visits.As hard as she tries, she can’t shake the feeling of anger in the pit of her stomach — exactly for what, she’s not sure.--or, a next-generation fic following the lives of Percy and Annabeth, and Piper and Jason's children, and a prophecy.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase & Piper McLean, Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Jason Grace/Piper McLean
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	1. one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay. so this is my first attempt in a very very very long time at a multichapter fic. i have absolutely 0 clue how long this is going to be or how fast i'm going to be able to update. but here it is. my take on a next generation fic. which i usually hate in practice.... but for Very Specific Reasons which I've tried to write around in this work. anyways jason is alive because i said so.
> 
> s/o to starlinks for making me actually expand this into a full fledged fic

# i //

Piper McLean never thought she’d be _alive_ at 18, much less pregnant.

“I don’t know what to do.”

It’s three in the morning, but Annabeth’s still here for her. She’ll always be grateful for that. She rubs her back, and for a moment, it’s like everything is okay. She’ll speak her wisdom and that will be it. Instead (and Piper knew deep down it would turn out this way) she says; “Piper, that’s something you have to decide for yourself. You know that.”

And that’s not very helpful — but it’s true. “I just thought everything was finally going back to normal.” It was. She’d gone back to school and was about to graduate, even got accepted into a few colleges (not that she was sure she’d even go). “What if there’s another prophecy?”

Annabeth stays silent.

“I can’t bring a baby into the world like that, Annabeth. I won’t!” _It would put both of our lives in danger._

“Then you don’t _have_ to,” she replies softly, resting her hand on Piper’s shoulder.

“I do, Gods, I _want to_.” Piper wipes the tears from her eyes, “That makes me sound so stupid.” It was _stupid_ to want to have a baby when she could be pulled into a war at any moment. But this is a chance to make something with her life — something mundane; normal.

Annabeth reassures her, though Piper isn’t sure how much she believes it, “No. It doesn’t; you’re not. You were as safe as you could be.”

Piper tries not to yell, not at Annabeth at least, but her emotions get the best of her this time. “I don’t want you to tell me it’s not my fault, I want you to tell me he won’t hate me!”

“I can’t do that.”

“Then lie!”

She doesn’t acknowledge the outburst, knowing it comes from a place of frustration, not directed at her but the cruel irony of the world (and how familiar she is with that herself). She simply offers a piece of hope; knowing nothing is certain, but it could be. “It’ll be okay.”

Piper lets the silence wash over them for a minute. “What would you do?” She asks, genuinely curious.

“I’ve always wanted a family,” she admits, fiddling with her engagement ring. _Of course she does. That's all she's ever wanted._ “But it would still be scary.”

“I have to tell him,” Piper says after a moment. He’s just as much a part of this as she is, and he deserves to know, no matter what she decides. And she knows — she knows what she wants, and it’s _this_.

Annabeth is unflinching. “I’ll come with you, okay?”

“Hold my hand?”

“Yeah.”

Annabeth does; all the way back to their apartment, up the stairs, into the living room, onto the couch, across from him.

“We have to talk,” Piper says, firm, but gentle.

“Are you breaking up with me?” Jason asks, a puzzled look on his face.

“No.” She shares a knowing glance with Annabeth, knowing what it looks like, and suppresses a laugh. Though, in all honesty, they both know if by some coincidence they both ended up single, it wouldn’t be a question, and they’d both know the answer.

“I’ll be right outside if you need me.” Annabeth squeezes her hand tight before she leaves, and then, it’s just them.

“Pipes. You’re killing me.”

She reaches into her pocket and hands him the test, unsure if she could even get the words out of her mouth.

“Oh.” He pauses. “Do you—”

“I’m keeping it,” she answers.

“Hey.” Jason wraps his arms around her. “We’ll be okay.”

# ii //

Annabeth storms into her room, barely knocking before she opens the door. “I think I’m pregnant.” She says it, quiet, almost nonchalant. It’s hard for Piper to decipher the look on her face; somewhere between dissociated and awed. But most definitely a little scared.

“I thought you were on the pill?” Piper asks.

She nods.

“So why do you—”

“—I don’t know. I just feel… off.” Annabeth cuts her off, rambling. “It’s possible.”

“Unlikely,” Piper adds.

Annabeth emphasizes, “But _possible_.”

She knows Annabeth wants this, but she has no clue what Percy’s stance on kids is. To be completely honest, he seems to Piper like the kind of guy who wouldn’t care as long as Annabeth was happy. “Have you two talked about wanting—”

“No… not yet, but...”

“But you _do_ want—”

“Yeah. _Yeah_ , I do,” she admits. She does, and she will, no matter what. It’s _permanent_ — a concrete legacy, that will last as long as the circle of life keeps spinning. And isn’t that what she wanted? It may not be exactly what she imagined, but the thought of it makes her want to cry. With Percy, doing better than her parents ever could, because he’d surely learn from the best; knowing this child would grow up with people who _care_. Immensely. _Deeply_. Parents who know what it’s like.

Annabeth wipes a tear from the corner of her eye, composing herself. “I bought a test, I just… I wanted you to be here.” She sighs, and opens the box from her bag, tossing the cardboard in the trash along with a packet of pills from her bag.

Piper pulls them out of the bin, scoffing, “You might still need these.”

She shakes her head, “I already know what it’s going to say, Piper. I just have a feeling.”

“Is it… a good feeling?” she offers.

“I don’t know yet. I hope so.”

# iii //

“Is something wrong?” Percy asks, sitting down next to Annabeth on the couch. “You seem off,” he offers. She’s been distant all week, and it scares him. He knows what that distance feels like, the kinds of storms that brew up in their minds.

“Nothing’s _wrong_ ,” Annabeth says, because it's not — but it _is_ scary. “I do need to talk to you though. Ask you something.”

He looks at her expectantly.

“Do you want kids?” she asks, a nervous edge lacing her voice. It's something they've never talked about, and she really wishes they had, if it would make this moment easier. In all honesty, she has absolutely no clue what she’ll say if he doesn’t; and his hesitance is no reassurance. Because she does; now more than ever, now that it’s real.

Percy considers his answer. He does. Not desperately; distantly. Not so much that he would have a problem if she didn’t. “Um, yeah. Do you—”

“Percy.” She stops him, because it’s all she needs to hear. “I’m pregnant.”

The look on his face turns from confusion to awe as he processes her revelation. It’s a moment before he speaks again, softly: “Really?”

She nods.

“Wow.” His hand finds her stomach, unable to feel a difference but struck with wonder with this new knowledge. He’s always wondered what it would be like to start a family with her, but for all the daydreaming he’s done, none of it compares. “When did you find out?”

She stares out the window, leaning into him. “Two weeks ago. I didn’t have any good reason to suspect it, I just… had a feeling?”

“Does anyone else know?” He has a feeling he's not the first person she's told. Two weeks is a long time, bottling up something that big.

“Piper.” She ran to her the second the thought popped into her mind. It was only fair — she’d helped Piper when it was her. Piper held her hand while she waited, and hugged her as long as she needed.

Percy analyzes her nerve-wracked expression. “Just Piper?”

Annabeth frowns, looking at him with a gaze that’s trying too hard to be apologetic. “No, I… I told your mom, too. I’m sorry,” she says, bursting out laughing, and trying to hold the tears back. It’s expected by now, but somehow still funny how untraditional they are. “I was freaking out and she’s kind of the best motherly figure I’ve got. But she’s thrilled — if that helps.”

“Oh, thank the gods,” he sighs, laughing, “No, no, I think I would die of embarrassment if I had to tell her myself.”

“Well, then _you’re welcome_ … and _you owe me_.”

“When do I not?” Percy smiles, wrapping his arms around her.

“I know this wasn’t what you expected — me either — but this is the best I’ve felt in a long time. I’m actually _happy_ , Percy,” she sighs, so weary from the world and how it’s beaten her up before. This almost feels like a blessing, even if it _isn’t_ one she planned for.

“No, no, so am I, I just don’t… how? We’re careful.” Incredibly so. He doesn’t want to dwell on the odds of it.

“I mean, nothing’s perfect. To have _two_ different methods fail, though… that’s either just terrible luck or godly interference.” At this point, it doesn’t matter which.

“I feel pretty lucky right now.” No; odds are… he’s the luckiest person in the world.

“Yeah?” Annabeth asks, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“I couldn’t think of anything I want more, Annabeth.” Now that it's right in front of him, he knows that.

# iv //

“How is she?”

“Asleep. Both of them.” Piper nods her head towards them; Percy clinging to Annabeth as much as he can in the tiny hospital bed. She winces, seeing the position he’s folded himself into, knowing too well how sore he’ll be in the morning. “Estelle was getting antsy so Sally took her home.”

Jason sits down next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

“I still can’t believe she walked across the stage at graduation _nearly nine months pregnant_. I barely left the bed.” It was as much a physical feat as it was an ode to her determination.

“Don’t I know that,” he scoffs jokingly.

It hits Piper that she’s never seen Annabeth _this_ happy. Even the day they got married. And then — she had thought the same thing. It’s something she could get used to; seeing her best friend overwhelmingly happy, with the love of her life, and knowing she has everything she’s ever wanted.

Lyra stirs in her arms, wriggling her tiny limbs within the blanket swaddling her. Piper smiles, shushing her before she even starts to cry. “Don’t you miss when he was little?” She asks, curled up awkwardly in the uncomfortable chair, but cradling the baby in her arms so gently.

Jason’s blunt, yet misinformed response: “Pipes, he’s still a toddler. He’s like half your height.”

She laughs, “This tiny. So tiny you’re amazed it’s even a person. When he could fall asleep in our arms.”

“Huh,” his face softens into a smile, “I guess… wow, he was so small when he was born. Smaller than her.”

“I can’t wait to do it all again.”

“Wait—”

Piper smiles.

He speaks, quieter this time, trying not to wake Percy and Annabeth, “You’re serious?”

She nods, “Yeah. Yeah. I found out this morning. Then Percy called, and it’s just been chaos since then. _She_ doesn’t even know yet.”

Piper can tell it means a lot to him, being the first to know, like it’s a secret between them — secrets were inevitably reserved for Annabeth, as they’d been before.

“I love you. A lot.”

“A lot?” She hums, teasing.

“The most.”


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a series of moments in the life of one lyra jackson-chase

# v //

“She’s crying again, Percy.” Annabeth yawns, refusing to open her eyes. No one told her she’d still be waking up in the middle of the night with a one year old.

He kisses her forehead, and rolls off the bed. “I got it.”

She thinks about how lucky she is — to have him; to have this beautiful part of both of them. The thoughts calm her — she’s almost back to sleep when she hears a thud, jolting upright and alert immediately. “What is it?”

“Sorry,” Percy rushes to her side, “I just stubbed my toe.”

“No monsters?”

“No monsters, Annabeth.” _At least not tonight._ “Everything’s okay.”

And it is, for a little while.

# vi //

They do come. Once, twice; as she gets older, they lose count. Sometimes they’re real, sometimes they’re not.

“Daddy.” Percy can barely see Lyra rubbing her eyes in the shadow of the doorframe, tottering over to his side of the bed, only illuminated by the moonlight and light pollution.

He whispers, trying not to wake Annabeth (as he knows it’s hard enough for her to get to sleep once), “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Monsters.”

It’s silent, save for the ever-present hum of the city that his ears have learned to regard as background noise. There’s no monsters tonight.

“C’mere.” He scoops her up, tucking her in tight under the covers in the middle of their bed. “You just had a bad dream.”

# vii //

Tonight, it’s gorgons. It’s nothing they haven’t dealt with before, and it won’t be the last time, but after he’s stowed Riptide back in his pocket, Percy feels an intense wave of exhaustion roll over him. It feels like he’s just going through the motions, fight after fight; living each day wondering if they’ll get any sleep. 

“Annabeth.” Percy’s hand ghosts over her shoulder blade, seeing the rapidly forming bruise peeking out of her tank top. She winces. “Sorry.”

She turns to face him, taking his hand, “It’s okay. I love you.” It’s going to hurt, and she knows that — but it’s better than the pain she would feel seeing her daughter get hurt. She could get a paper cut, or a splinter, or some other normal kid injury, and Annabeth would have to hold back tears just to bandage her up. This pain is as familiar as her own skin, and she knows how to deal with it. So she will.

Percy squeezes her hand softly, and kisses her cheek. “I love you.” Just saying it brings a sense of peace to his tired body.

“I’m gonna go make sure she’s okay.” If they’re lucky, she’s fallen back asleep. If not...

Lyra runs straight to her, towing a blanket draped over her head, and clings to Annabeth’s leg, crying. _She must’ve had a real scare._

“It’s okay. It’s gone.” Annabeth scoops her up, and holds her close, fingers threaded through soft brown curls. “You’re safe now.”

Lyra’s sniffles grow quieter; more infrequent as she calms in her mother’s arms. “Gone?”

“All gone, baby. I promise.” She lays her down into her bed, tucking her tightly into a sea of blankets.

Annabeth sings her to sleep, and as Percy stands in the doorway, still brushing dirt off his clothes, he thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

She gets up, smiling when she notices him, and the awed look on his face, “What?”

“I never knew you could sing like that. Thirteen years and I never knew how beautiful your voice is.”

Annabeth has no idea how to respond. All she knows for sure is how eternally grateful she is for him, and the life they’ve built together; and they’re safe, and alive, and _happy,_ _most of the time_ , and that’s all that matters. So she wraps her arms around him, strong and tight, and tries to hold back the tears that threaten to come. They both cry for everything they still don’t know.

# viii //

“I hope you realize, this is extremely unprecedented.”

“You’re telling me we’re the only demigod couples to ever have kids?” Piper raises an eyebrow.

“Not the _only_ , but one of the _few_.” Chiron pauses, leaving it to them to come to a conclusion as to why. It’s not something they want to dwell on. “And certainly not any of such… heritage.” He glances toward Percy and Jason. “When you all were born you received half of each parent’s DNA — in your case, half god, half mortal. The same principles apply to your children. With the way we’ve seen their powers develop already, at such young ages, I believe Calliope and Lyra may have a greater percentage of godly blood. I can’t say with any certainty just how much or from who — I’m sure we’ll see their powers grow with time — but I fear this is going to put them in danger. There’s a prophecy—”

“No,” Percy says, firm, “I don’t want to hear about another _fucking_ prophecy.”

Annabeth smooths her hand against his back. “Percy…”

“I won’t let her grow up the same way we did.” His voice cracks as he finishes his sentence, trying to hide how upset the idea makes him.

She holds him closer. “I know.”

Chiron continues, “I’m afraid there’s not much I can tell you. It’s incredibly vague, as these things tend to be. A warning of descendants of powerful gods from two sides.”

“You thought it was us,” Jason says, “Percy and me. That’s why you wanted to see us.”

“Correct. It seems, though…”

“They shouldn’t see each other.” Annabeth juts in, quiet. “Lyra can already spill her sippy cups when she’s upset, and Piper’s seen Callie make people’s hair stand on end. That’s not a good combination.”

Piper looks like she’s about to speak up, but Jason takes her hand. “She’s probably right. It’s too dangerous.” She knows it is. It doesn’t make it any harder. When she found out Annabeth was pregnant all she could think about was how wonderful it would be to watch them grow up alongside each other.

“I want to hear it,” Piper says, loud and clear, _demanding_. “The prophecy.”

# ix //

“Fuck,” Percy swears, wincing.

“Stay still.” She threads the needle between the edges of the laceration with a steady hand. It’s like her brain completely shuts off, its only directive to stitch him back together. “You wouldn’t be sitting here if you’d listened when I said to double back.” She know she sounds bitter, but her words are so disconnected from her thoughts, they feel foreign in her mouth.

“I thought I had enough time.”

“Percy,” she warns, “Don’t scare me like that. When you get overconfident you get reckless. You know that.” _I know. I do too._

“I know, but— _ow_ —if we get sloppy that’s just putting her in danger.”

Annabeth pauses, tying the last stitch off without another word. The silence doesn’t last long. “Maybe we should tell her.” It all feels selfish, like she's a bad mom just for thinking it. They’re her parents — it’s _their_ job to protect _her_ , not the other way around. But it’s painful to keep fighting, after so many years. “I wouldn’t have to worry about losing you like this. We could take her somewhere safe.”

“Annabeth… She’s 6. I don’t want her to have to carry that weight until it’s absolutely necessary.” This little girl is everything to him. He sees so much of himself in her, and every second they have to talk about the prophecy, it hurts him.

Annabeth stays silent; he’s right, even if she doesn’t want to say it out loud. And she hurts, too. So she nods — she never wanted to lie to her, ever. But this is too much to put on the shoulders of a child. One just as little as she was. She wishes someone would’ve considered that when she was young.

# x //

“Are you two coming up for lunch anytime soon?” Annabeth rolls her eyes, standing at the edge of the lake. “It’s been half an hour.”

Percy surfaces, Lyra right behind him, giggling profusely.

“Did Daddy say something funny?” She raises an eyebrow, glaring at Percy.

“Daddy talks to the fish.” It sounds more like _fith_. She smiles wide, a toothy grin showing off her missing front teeth.

“ _Great_ ,” she stares right into his soul, trying not to let on the slight bit of amusement it brings her, “She thinks you’re crazy.”

A tenet of her limited attention span, Lyra starts playing with her powers, splashing about.

He protests, “She just figured out the bubble thing, I had to show her something new!”

“And does she _understand_ them, Percy?”

His face falls. “Uh. No. I see your point,” he laughs. It seemed she hadn’t inherited that particular power from him. “She’s pretty amused by this, though.”

Tens of tiny blobs of water circle her, weaving around Percy, up into the air, and back into the lake.

“It took you a long time to be able to do stuff that precise,” Annabeth notes, handing him a sandwich from her bag.

“Yeah. It did.”

# xi //

“How come you never told me about this?”

“Because it’s scary.”

“I can handle scary.”

Annabeth sighs, “I heard the Great Prophecy for the first time when I was your age.” It kept her awake with nightmares far too often, knowing she’d eventually be a part of it — which is why she’s so reluctant to tell these things to Lyra, despite knowing how important it is that she knows. “I spent two years waiting for a sign until I finally got one. He was annoying, and _dense_ , and the son of my mother’s biggest rival. And then he was my friend — my best friend. Someone who was loyal to me no matter what. I wouldn’t change that for the world.” Not when it’s brought her here. “But we had to make a lot of hard decisions. And I—” She shakes her head. “I know you don’t completely understand.” Annabeth never intended her to. “I need you to know that it’s not always going to be easy.”

# xii //

“I’m 11 now,” Lyra states, with an air of unparalleled confidence, “I can keep secrets.”

“Hey,” Percy says, patting her back, “We trust you. It’s just a big change.”

She crosses her arms. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“That also means you can’t use your powers,” Annabeth says, handing Lyra her lunchbox.

“I know.” _You told me. Many times._

Annabeth kisses her cheek, pretending she doesn’t see her dramatically wipe her face off with the back of her hand mere seconds later. “Okay. I love you. Tell me all about it later.”

Percy walks her out the door, and down to the subway stop. They stand, and wait. “So, middle school. Kind of a big deal?” He sure thought so.

“I guess,” she shrugs. “I’m excited to make friends.” It’s the one thing that sucked about being homeschooled. She knows, as they’ve told her so many times, it was for her protection, because she never was able to completely control her powers as a kid. But the only kids she’s ever really known otherwise are other demigods; and what fleeting interactions she had with them while visiting Camp. And they weren’t like her, not really.

Percy reaches out his arms as the car doors open, beckoning her for a hug. She wraps her arms as far as they’ll reach around him, as tight as she can. So he holds her close against his chest for as long as he knows the doors will remain open, “You got this.”

# xiii //

“Keep your feet apart. Knees bent.” Annabeth instructs her, feet firmly planted in the grass, beckoning for Lyra to follow.

Lyra clutches the sword, an iron-clad grip Annabeth recognizes from when she was this age — still too young to fully understand the weight of what she was doing, but old enough to feel the fear that came with the inherent danger of every battle she fought. “Loosen your grip.” Lyra follows, feeling the handle bounce with her new stance. “There you go.”

“Now remember, be ready to move. Stay on the balls of your feet.” That got her last time. And it had plagued Annabeth many times — feeling frozen, for even with a plan, there were so many unpredictable variables within combat.

Lyra nods, and takes a tentative swing, blocked by Annabeth. She staggers back, preparing a counterattack. Her blade catches against Lyra’s before she even gets close. “Good. Nice block,” Annabeth says, directing Lyra’s sword away with her sheer strength. “Now try for a hit.”

“You’re too quick.” Lyra breathes heavily, clearly intensely focused and growing weary. She blocks again, against her advice.

“No, you’re doing great. Keep going.” Annabeth encourages her, gearing up to test her reflexes. “Find an opening.”

She almost takes Annabeth by surprise; going on the offensive with such short notice. Her swing aims low, and Annabeth has to think quick, readjusting her stance to block the incoming blow. “You’re getting really good at this.”

Lyra sighs, her sword swinging at her side. “Thanks.”

# xiv //

“Zeph! Lemme in!” Lyra’s voice sounds over the intercom, and he buzzes her up.

“Why is it always my place?” Zephyr asks, opening the door right as she’s about to knock.

“Our apartment is tiny,” Lyra shrugs, squeezing past him in the doorway. _And we have a truly impressive stash of weaponry in the coat closet which I’d rather not have to explain._

“So. Graduation’s only a few weeks away.” he says. “Are you excited? For high school?”

“I don’t know. I guess.” It doesn’t seem like that big of a change. Same kinds of classrooms, cinderblock hallways; the usual cliques and groups. The same tendencies of teachers to constantly breathe down her neck about assignments and paying attention, despite her accommodations. She sinks into the couch, feeling the relief of taking her backpack off.

“That doesn’t seem very enthusiastic.”

“I just hate the drama. Did you see what they did to Jenna Thompson the other day?”

“Jenna hates you, Ly,” he laughs.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean she deserves to get gum stuck in her hair,” Lyra mumbles, hugging her knees into a ball. Sure, she’s a menace and has never said a single nice word to Lyra, but she doesn’t wish ill on her for it. Everyone’s got their own shit, bullies included, and she’s trying her best to ignore it. Plus, she already got what she deserved.

“She called you—”

Her head snaps up to stare at him. “I know what she called me, I don’t need to hear it from you too.”

“Sorry. I just… I don’t understand how you can…” he sighs, “It just makes me so _angry_ I—”

“Let’s just. Talk about something else.” She takes a deep breath, shifting the topic. “How’d you do on your finals?”

“Pretty good. Got straight B’s. Bombed the English essay though. And you know I killed that science project. So yeah, average all around.”

“As if you would ever get anything less than an A+. How’s the tomato plants?” He’s always liked gardening. Especially to bring a cold, industrial apartment to life. And of course it’d earn him an A — he knew how to take care of them, even in such a cramped space.

“Just picked ‘em yesterday. You ever had homemade ketchup?”

Her eyes widen. “No. You better have some left!”

“Of course I do. Meanwhile, I’m guessing you aced everything—”

“Except math,” they say, at the same time, bursting into laughter.

“Yeah. You know me.”

“Sure do.” He grabs a plate from the kitchen, setting it down on the coffee table. “All homegrown. I present to you, gourmet french fries and ketchup.”

She tastes it. “That’s… amazing.”

“You know you only like me for the food.”

“You’re gonna be on some _Top Chef_ shit, or something,” she chuckles, imagining it. “And not true!”

“Yeah, you’re gonna miss me this summer. But especially the food.”

“I wish you didn’t have to visit your mom all summer.”

Zeph sighs. “I know. But it’ll be over before you know it.”

# xv //

“I can’t do this, Percy. I can’t keep pretending this is okay. It’s getting worse. They’re getting stronger. _We can’t keep doing this_.”

“Annabeth,” he sighs, and she can hear the sheer exhaustion in his voice. “We have to.”

“And what happens if we get seriously hurt?” _I can’t lose you._ Her body aches, scrapes and bruises staining a fair amount of her skin, even with the ambrosia. She feels defeated, and battered. And there’s only so much she can hide with long sleeves and pants. It’s been a week of fending off monsters everywhere she goes, sometimes without their help; it hurts them to see the marks on her body from fighting.

“Better us than her.”

She doesn’t disagree, but it’s more than that. _She can’t lose us._ “Percy, look at me.” He does. “You know what we have to do.”

He sighs, staring out the window to study the city skyline. “I just thought we had more time.”

“It’s longer than either of us had,” Annabeth reminds him.

Percy lets the concept of _two more years_ sink in, and it hits him hard. Two more years of normalcy. Of not fighting for his life. “Okay. But... let her have her birthday.” It’s the least he can do when there’s so much anxiety centered around his own. She deserves a day for herself.

“Okay.” Annabeth echoes, quieter. “Come here?” He slides into bed and wraps his arms tightly around her; stubble pricking at her neck as he curls up closer. She fits so perfectly into his embrace, like the curves of her body were made to fit against him. Like he was made to hold her.

“She'll be alright.” _She has to be._


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> new friends, and old friends

# xvi //

“Come sit, we have to talk to you.” Annabeth sits her down at the dinner table, hating the way the panic sets into her face.

“Is this about the wall because I _swear_ I can explain.”

“No,” she laughs, thoughts drifting to the foot-shaped hole behind the dresser in her room, “that’s okay. We just have something really important to talk to you about.”

“Are you two splitting up?” It’s the first thing that pops into her mind, even though as the words leave her lips, she knows they’re ridiculous.

“No.” Annabeth takes a deep breath. “Remember how we told you about the prophecies?”

Lyra nods. She’s heard every story they offered to tell over the years.

Annabeth sighs. Percy picks up; “There’s another we’ve known about for a while.” Almost ten years, keeping the secret from her, he feels awfully guilty.

“You’re not… leaving… right?” Lyra’s voice quivers, trying not to think too hard of what she’s heard from them about prophecies and what they entail; the quests and danger they bring.

“No… it’s—” Annabeth can’t finish her thought when all her mind wants to focus on is how much she sees herself in her daughter. It hurts to see her worry, in light of the fact she devoted herself to making sure Lyra would never experience the same things she did as a kid. And now, _this_.

“We think it might be about you.”

Her father’s words take a minute to sink in. “Oh.”

“And—” Annabeth adds, “—another legacy.”

Percy continues, trying to disperse some of the tension. “We don’t know what’s going to happen. All we know is that bad things happen if we interfere. So this is all you — and I know how scary that is — but we’ve got your back as much as we possibly can.”

Lyra is silent for a while. “You should’ve told me.” She doesn’t seem angry. It’s a statement of fact from her perspective.

“I know,” Annabeth sighs, taking her hand. “And I’m sorry.”

Percy rests his hand on Annabeth’s back, reassuring her. “We just wanted you to be safe.”

“I know.” She knows the stories. The prophecies, the quests, the battles. She doesn’t _want_ to live like this — but she’ll do it if it means keeping her family intact. “Do I know them? The other demigod?”

“You were four the last time you saw her.”

“It was for your own safety,” Percy adds.

Lyra looks up at her father. “They’ve been coming a lot lately.”

“That’s why we’re telling you,” he says. “We’re taking you to Camp. You’ll be safe there.”

“What about school? There’s still two weeks left and I haven’t taken my finals.”

Annabeth has to try hard not to laugh; it’s another way she sees herself in her. “I called. You know, family emergencies happen. They were more than willing to accommodate. Whatever your grades were yesterday is where they’ll stay. You don’t have to worry about that.”

It’s only a little bit of relief among something so scary. She doesn’t sleep much that night.

# xvii //

She’s been to Camp with her parents before, but it’s never felt like this. This feels more than temporary. They pack their bags too, and settle into a staff cabin, promising to be there for her if she needs them. Even if they can’t intervene directly, Annabeth is prepared to exploit every possible loophole, with Percy at her side. They won’t leave her.

Lyra settles into the Hermes cabin with relative ease, though sleep doesn’t come easily. It’s not as quiet as she would prefer, but it’s better than the deafening silence of the Poseidon cabin, or living with her mother’s side of the family — from family gatherings, she knows they’re a _lot_ sometimes. And she doesn’t quite feel like a part of either of them. So this will have to do. In a way, she thinks, it’s almost poetic, and quite fitting: not quite human, not quite demigod, left to her own devices to forge an identity as something new. Or some bullshit like that.

When she finally feels the exhaustion drift over her, it’s overwhelming; like the entire weight of the day’s been dropped on her at once. In a way, it has. She’s here now, this is _real_. Not just the stories her parents told to her, or vague bursts of imagination from brief visits.

As hard as she tries, she can’t shake the feeling of anger in the pit of her stomach — exactly for what, she’s not sure. And she _still_ can’t sleep.

# xviii //

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

There’s not much Lyra can make out in the pale blue glow of the moon, other than the girl’s vague shade of olive skin, and light-colored wavy hair. “It’s okay,” she shrugs, ”Plenty of room aboard the pity train. Or, tree, I guess.”

“I didn’t think anyone else was here.”

“No, I mean, I’d be surprised too if I climbed a tree at—” she glances at her watch, “—two AM and actually saw another person. Let alone… in the same tree.” The other girl doesn’t respond. “Can’t sleep?” Lyra offers.

“Jet-lag,” she answers, simple enough. “Got in from California earlier. You?”

”Thinking about how I just ditched the last month of freshman year and all my new friends, pretty much cementing my status as a loner for the next few years, all for something that might not even be true,” she sighs, finally putting it into words (She could hope that it might not be true; even if she knows the prophecies never lie). “Spilling my guts to a girl whose name I don’t even know. The usual, I guess.”

That gets a chuckle out of the girl, extending her hand. “Calliope — Callie. My name,” she clarifies. “I’m missing graduation, if it makes you feel any better.”

Lyra shakes her hand. “Lyra.”

And two AM turns into three, then four.

# xix //

Lyra spots her sitting on a bench after finally dragging herself out of bed at half past noon. Callie’s watching two girls practicing sparring with swords in the clearing; with many of the same techniques Lyra recognizes from her own training. “Did they teach you how to fight?” she asks, curious, sitting down next to her.

“Yeah. I trained with my brother, Homer. You?”

She nods. “I don’t have any siblings. Just Mom and Dad.”

Callie chuckles, “Yeah, but your parents are, like, legendary! Like... _superheroes_ !” Her eyes widen. “What can you _do_?”

“Um…” She takes a second to think. “I’m really good with patterns. Like, memory and stuff. Not words though.”

“None of us are. Dyslexia, right?”

“Right,” she laughs. It’s good to be around someone else who understands. “I’m pretty good with a sword, and I inherited my Dad’s water powers too, I guess.”

“Really? You leave the _coolest_ one as an _afterthought_?”

“It’s… I’m not that good at it!” She’s nowhere near as good as her father, and it isn’t like she’s ever known any different. It’s been a part of her life as far back as she can remember, splashing water out of the bathtub as a mischievous little kid.

“Still cool!”

“Alright, what can _you_ do?” she asks, curious to know what kinds of powers she inherited, if her own are any signal.

“I can do a little bit with the weather — my dad taught me that — and electricity, like my brother… and I’ve always had my mom’s charmspeak.”

“What else can your brother do?”

“Well, I mean… he’s really good at fixing things, but not much. He knows how to work with electronics, but his actual powers aren’t like mine.”

“Oh. That sucks.”

“Nah, I don’t think it really bothers him. He thinks turning on lightbulbs is a cool enough party trick, and honestly? I don’t blame him. It sure would be easier.” She notices something behind Lyra, and points. “That’s him over there. Curly hair.”

Lyra’s mind sticks on her earlier revelation. “Charmspeak?”

“You’re not ready for this,” she grins, “It’s like, hypnotism. I’ve always been able to do it, even before I knew about it. I used to get my dad to give me extra dessert. Until my mom found out. She was pretty mad, but she told me how to control it. And like, she told me not to use it unless it was _completely necessary_ , but I see her tell the landlord every once in a while that they’ve already paid, so I don’t think it hurts to ‘borrow’ a candy bar or two.”

Lyra laughs, “You’re kind of a badass.”

“ _Someone_ has to be in this family, and it sure isn’t my brother.” She folds her arms, “Look at him. He’s like a puppy.”

He’s pretty short, relatively speaking, just a little bit taller than Lyra, even though he looks older. He reminds her a little bit of herself with his curly brown hair — although his is much neater, carefully sculpted and shaved at the sides, while her curls frame the side of her face around her ears without any real shape or definition. His skin is a light brown, slightly darker than his sister’s olive complexion, but she immediately sees the resemblance, next to Callie’s dirty blonde waves, and her eyes, the same warm amber color as his, but also speckled with flecks of hazel and green. He doesn’t look intimidating, as many of the other campers have; with a tennis racket in hand, he bounces a ball up and down without much ceremony, sitting peacefully on a bench.

“He seems nice,” Lyra determines, shrugging.

“Exactly! I’ve heard so many stories about how like, cool our parents were, and I… I wanna do that. Be someone important.”

“It’s going to be dangerous.”

“That’s exciting!”

“You don’t get it!” Lyra bites back the harsher words that threaten to come tumbling from her lips. _You’re immature, and arrogant, and self-centered, and—_ They’re fleeting thoughts, and she’s not in the business of ruining the first new friendship she’s had since age 11. But the outrage still comes. “Our parents watched their friends die and couldn’t do anything about it!” Because it’s true — and she doesn’t want it to happen to her. 

That shuts Callie up pretty quickly.

# xx //

“It’s been… almost a year,” Piper says.

“I know.” It was hard for either of them to get away too often, let alone find a time where their schedules lined up. That, combined with the fact that they lived on opposite sides of the country, meant she frequently went long periods of time without seeing her best friend. They talked, often enough, via IM, but it wasn’t the same.

“I missed you, babes,” she sighs, hugging Annabeth for all the times she’s wanted to in the past year. “How’s she doing?”

She knows Lyra isn’t okay. Not in the slightest. Annabeth can read that kid like a book, no matter how much she tries to cover it up. “Angry. But hiding it well — nothing I can’t see through. Yours?”

“Homer’s fine. Actually, I think he’s glad to be skipping school. Callie is… okay, I think.”

“That’s good.” It almost feels like they’re kids again, gossiping cross-legged in their bunk beds. Even so, it’s different, and they both know it.

“They’re talking like friends already.”

The tension returns — in the form of silence — until Annabeth breaks it: “They were.” And she regrets saying it the _second_ the words tumble out of her mouth. They _were_ , as much as toddlers could be, but that’s a sore subject, for both of them.

Piper glares at her, whether it’s anger or sadness is anyone’s guess.

“I know. I just wonder what… if they’d grown up together?”

“Me too.” It’s far behind them now, but she does — wonders what their lives might look like today if they grew up that close. She wonders if it would’ve made a difference; would’ve mattered.

# xxi //

Lyra would recognize his shaggy hair anywhere. “Zeph?”

“Lyra. Hi.” He wraps her in a hug, so tight that she’s surprised she can still breathe.

But that doesn’t explain why he’s _here_ , of all places, instead of on a farm in the middle of nowhere, Mississippi like he should be. “What are you—”

He smiles, shaking his head like it’s _obvious_ , “Son of Demeter. You didn’t think I just really liked plants, did you?”

 _Guilty as charged_. “I… I guess so,” she chuckles, head tilting as the gears turn in her mind. He immediately makes ten times more sense, not the enigma she always took him for. But also, nothing makes sense — because this is Zeph, her best friend since the sixth grade, and shouldn’t she have known? Better yet: “Wait— did you know?” It’s hard to imagine him like this, so connected to a life she thought was only hers through stories.

He raises an eyebrow, “Jackson-Chase? _Yeah_ , I knew.” He sounds a little amused, but more than anything, relieved.

Lyra, not so much. It’s the second time today she’s been reminded of her parents’ legacies, and it’s starting to weigh on her. “Why did you never tell me?”

Zeph shrugs. “I didn’t know how much they wanted you to know. Wasn’t too keen on angering the literal heroes of Olympus.” He pauses, letting the words settle. “I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head. “I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.” _And I don’t want to hear it any more._

# xxii //

“There is _no_ way I’m letting you do this alone,” Homer says, entirely firm in his decision.

“I won’t be alone. She’s coming too.” Callie points to Lyra, who looks like a giant compared to the boy she’s talking to.

“ _She_ ’s a kid.” He’s not fooled, despite her height — There’s no way he’s letting his little sister and some lanky teenage girl off into the world, let alone in such dangerous circumstances, alone. She can’t be more than a year older than her, and certainly no more mature. And she looks so innocent, with her mousy brown curls and folded arms — not strong enough to protect the both of them. _Not alone_.

Callie crosses her arms. “So are you. What’s the difference?”

He has to admit, she’s kind of right. But he’s older, damnit, and he’s not being a good big brother if he isn’t protecting her. “I’m coming with you, Callie. I can’t just sit here and do nothing!”

It’s not often that he yells; Callie knows that. “Mom and Dad won’t let you,” she says, quiet.

Homer sighs. “They already did.”

# xxiii //

“Not gonna lie, I’m shit at archery.” Zeph shuffles, hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts, “But Astrid’s the best.”

“You say that like it’s _surprising_ ,” Lyra laughs, “I know you have the hand-eye coordination of a toddler.”

“Okay. Unfair,” he points at her, looking immeasurably amused. “So who’s the girl you were talking to earlier?”

“That’s Callie. Her brother’s over there in the striped shirt.”

“ _The Grace kids?_ ” he asks, almost a whisper.

“Yeah.” He raises an eyebrow, and Lyra rolls her eyes. “Oh, don’t look at me like that!”

“Sorry, _sorry_ ,” he sighs, “They’re just… they’re big too.”

It’s not that Lyra didn’t know her parents, and even Callie and Homer’s, were a big deal — but to see her _best friend_ lose his mind over them just seemed so wrong. (And hell, even _Callie_ had seemed shocked.) At this point, she’s surprised he didn’t short circuit the first time her Dad picked her up at his apartment. How _did_ he survive that, anyways?

A tall blonde, hair pulled into a sleeked-back bun approaches them, pulling her out of her thoughts. “Ready to get started?”

# xxiv //

“Hey.” Percy can feel Annabeth shaking. “She’s okay. She’s gonna be just fine.” He reassures her, though there’s still a thread of worry running through his mind that asks, _What if I’m wrong?_

“I know she’ll be okay. She’s your daughter,” Annabeth says, pulling herself close to him, and wrapping her legs around his; entwined.

“She’s yours too.”

“I know that.” She’s _ours._ _And she’s got the same natural survival instincts._ “But I’m worried about how this is going to affect her. You know how bad it got.” They still don’t talk about it all that often, and the memories rarely haunt them anymore. When they do, it’s the same as it’s always been, holding each other close until the dread and fear dissipates. But this, _this_ is an entirely different can’t-sleep feeling.

Percy holds her hand loosely, running his thumb over her fingers, twisting the wedding band on her ring finger. “We turned out okay, didn’t we?”

She remembers the day he proposed to her in vivid color. It was the most normal of days, spent in her dorm room, sitting between his legs, furiously wrapping up her last final paper with minutes until the deadline. Percy watched silently, as he had been for hours, as she submitted it, relaxing into his arms, knowing she could finally breathe; that she’d made it through her first semester of college. 

“You didn’t have to stay, you know.”

Percy shrugged. “I like watching you work.”

For all the stress, for all the nights she wondered if she really was cut out for this, she had something to show for it. If she’s honest, those kinds of nights were the ones she lived for, because for once she wasn’t worrying about if she’d be alive tomorrow. So she sighed, relieved, the mess of emotions settling into her bones, only for him to stir them right back up.

“You know,” he echoed, laughing, hands wrapping around her body, “This might be really stupid, but I want to marry you.”

“Percy,” she sighed, turning her head to face him, and fully expecting it to be an off-handed comment, “I don’t think that’s stupid, but you better have something to show for it.” She _expected_ him to laugh, a ‘maybe someday’ sitting on his lips.

But Percy had instead reached into the pocket of his jeans, fumbling with the silver moonstone ring he’d been carrying around with him for six weeks, and held it out to her. He’d never looked more serious. “I mean it.”

Annabeth shook her head, blinking her eyes to stop the tears from coming, and kissed him without a word. For all the “normal” things she craved, this was something better done their own way. She kissed him until she couldn’t breathe, until he was laughing, scooping her into his lap, hands tangled in her curls. “That’s a yes, by the way.”

If someone had told Annabeth a few years ago that she’d be engaged, let alone alive and _happy_ at eighteen, she would’ve laughed in their face. Even if she managed to live that long, the possibility of someone loving her enough to want to spend the rest of their lives together seemed foreign.

The ceremony was small; they could count the number of guests on their hands. Their parents, friends, and Chiron, on the lake of Camp Half Blood, which just felt right to both of them. After she kissed Percy for the first time as a married couple, Annabeth looked towards Piper, seven months pregnant and bawling her eyes out in happiness, and started to wonder if her life might turn out as good as hers did. And she supposes, it did. _They did._


End file.
